


The Misadventures of Disabled Disasters

by WickedWyk



Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky needs friends, Canon Disabled Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Honestly they're all disasters, Kate and Clint bromance, Matt needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12880587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWyk/pseuds/WickedWyk
Summary: He woke up in a dumpster. Again. But this time, somebody else was there too.





	1. Dumpster Buddies

    Everything hurt. And smelled like...trash? Clint groaned from where he lay, immediately aware of the fact he wasn't at home. What...what had happened? There was the fight with the Tracksuit Draculas. It ended up going out on the fire escape, and he...fell off the fire escape? Looking up at the metal walkway far above him, that seemed to make sense. He took a deep breath, or, tried to. Something-no- _ someone _ was overtop him. He just needed to get up and and then he could-

 

   Nope. That wasn't going to happen. This guy was at least 80% muscle, and Clint was 100% tired. He strained against the stranger's weight, but found it impossible to do much more than wiggle. He wasn't sure what was more insulting, the fact he couldn't lift this stranger, or the fact this wasn't his  _ personal _ dumpster. Really? Were there other C-List baddies who liked throwing guys into the trash? And why  _ this _ dumpster? 

 

  He was getting ahead of himself. There were totally more pressing issues than how and why this guy ended up thrown in the trash on top of him. For example, the fact the guy was wearing some shitty sweatsuit. And a mask. And also? He was bleeding. Probably, at least. Clint spotted blots of crimson on his own clothes, and it was too much to be his own. As far as he could tell, all his own injuries were internal. As in, no bleeding. No, this guy needed help. And fast. Round two for trying to haul a bleeding stranger off himself. Clint groaned, rolling back slightly to push against the dead weight with his legs. If his arms were pinned, it made more sense to use his legs. Finally, the black-clad stranger rolled off to the side. 

 

  Immediately did the archer scramble out of the dumpster in favor of assessing the stranger. Lots of cuts and slashes. The dude had gotten into some bad shit. Thankfully, his wounds seemed to have clotted somewhat. Hopefully dragging him back up to his apartment wouldn't be too bad. 

 

\---

 

"You've  _ got  _ to be  _ kidding _ me." It wasn't exactly a warm greeting, but from Katie, he could never be sure. She stood in the doorway, wearing a purple tee and skinny jeans. Clint took a moment from stitching up the unconscious stranger to look down at what he was wearing. His face split into a wide grin almost immediately.

 

"Hey, same outfit!" They'd even matched down to the purple converse! Well, except his stuff was now covered in both trash and blood. Whatever. He'd learned too many tricks in getting bloodstains out in the wash. He was too broke to buy new clothes. The smile of his face faded as soon as Kate scowled, and he busied himself with finishing up his patch job. Kate closed the door behind her, walking inside with the soft shuffle of grocery bags. "Did'ya get everything?" 

 

"Yeah, uh...Let's see." Setting the plastic bag on the counter, she began to remove its contents. "Band-aids, gauze, disinfectant...Don't you have all this?" Kat looked up, waving a roll of gauze accusingly at the blond. He shrugged, tying off the last stitch and standing. She was right, of course. He had his own first-aid kit. In fact, its contents were strewn all about the living room floor. Most of what he had was used up. "Think fast, Hawkguy." Kate tossed the roll of gauze at her friend. 

 

Clint narrowed his eyes as Kate spoke. It took him a little while to decipher what she said. Even with the hearing aids, his hearing was nowhere near perfect. Vague syllables were made louder thanks to his aids, which made them easier to pick through and understand. But they didn’t make conversation any less muddy. The archer blinked in surprise when the cotton wrap hit him in the chest, though he didn't seem super upset. He picked it up off the floor, kneeling once again beside the unconscious stranger. Kate, too, came and busied herself with helping. 

 

“So, how did you end up with this man?” Kate grabbed the scissors in the first-aid kit, cutting strips of gauze as Clint finished wrapping injuries. “I mean, he’s in...he’s in bad shape, Clint.” The other Hawkeye had taken his time treating the guy’s injuries. Instead of just wrapping his wounds and moving on, Clint had actually  _ stitched up _ those cuts. And  _ not _ with dental floss. Kate was actually impressed with the neat, careful stitching. She studied the other man’s face, frowning. He was handsome, with a sharp jaw and faint beard. 

 

“Found him in a dumpster.” The other archer admitted with a shrug. “You know, the one I said I was thrown into? He was on top of me.” There was reason to believe they were fighting the same people, given the timing and location. “I dunno what _ he _ was doing there, though. I guess we just have to wait until he-”

 

The wounded man awoke with a gasp, bolting upright. Clint flinched at the sudden movement. Okay, so he was up now. That was good news. 

 

“Where…” The other man didn’t move his head to look around, but instead stared straight ahead. Clint narrowed his eyes, zeroing in on the stranger’s eyes. Something was wrong. 

 

“Holy shit, are you  _ blind? _ ”


	2. Rough Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Clint don't trust each other, naturally. While the two boys argue, Kate tries to keep them from killing each other.

Matt shot upright as soon as he came to, taking only a little time to mull over what happened. 

He’d made a mistake. Underestimated the power of guns and knives. Overestimated his own strength against people wielding guns and knives. And he’d somehow ended up in a dumpster. At least, that’s what it smelled like. He took a deep breath, wincing as his body strained against stitches. There were two people in the room, both unfamiliar and potentially dangerous. 

Scratch that, definitely dangerous. He could sense an arsenal of weapons in the room. Five knives, two-no-three bows, and a plethora of arrows. He could tell just by the way the man was standing that he was poised for a fight. The effortless tension in the stranger’s legs and twitch in his fingers was a tell; he had done this before, and was expecting a fight. Matt focused on their heartbeats, finding the both them slightly elevated. It was likely adrenaline instead of fear. 

“Holy shit, are you  _ blind?”  _

Okay, the stranger may be ready to strike, but he sounded surprisingly...relaxed. Like this was a daily occurrence for him. Matt swallowed hard, trying to squash down his instinct to fight his way out of the situation. This guy had patched him up, after all. The Russians had left him for dead. This wasn’t some kind of good samaritan work, that was for sure. 

Matt moved to sit up, but was immediately stopped by the other person. The girl. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly at him and shook her head. 

“Nuh uh. You’ve got too many stitches to be up and around.” She sounded young, maybe...twenty? Nineteen? Something like that. “Really, Clint? An injured guy wakes up and you make fun of his disability?” Narrowing his eyes, Matt relented and lay back down. The man in the room scoffed, a hand coming to rest on his chest. 

“He’s a stranger I found beat up in a dumpster! How was I supposed to know-”

“You’re deaf.” Matt finally declared. The two strangers stopped their bickering immediately and moved to stare at him. There was no doubt; the tall man was deaf. His consonants came out strangely emphasized; although he tried to cover it up, it was clear he couldn’t tell exactly how he was speaking. The man-Clint-stiffened at this, but didn’t move to correct him. 

“I...uh, yeah. How did you know?” He was blind; it wasn’t the guy could see his hearing aids! Bewildered, Clint waved a hand in front of Matt’s face. 

“Don’t do that. It’s annoying.” This rewarded Matt with a perplexed look from both archers. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t see it, however. Kate and Clint exchanged glances, confused. Sighing, Matt closed his eyes. “Your speech pattern. It was too odd for you not to be hard of hearing.” 

Clint leaned forward, a scowl creasing onto his face. SHIELD had put him through speech therapy; there way no  _ way _ anyone could tell he had speech issues just by listening! A hand pressed on Matt’s chest, much firmer than Kate’s cautious touch. Clint pushed until the blind man winced and tensed beneath his weight. 

“Who are you? And  _ don’t _ lie to me. You can’t see my aids and there’s  _ no way _ you could get a lucky guess like that. So tell me,” Clint increased the force behind his push, lip curling in a small snarl. “ Who. Are. You.” 

It was strange, having the tactic he used most often turned against him. Matt wheezed, straining against the archer’s grip in an effort to diminish the pressure on his chest. He was entirely at this man’s mercy. Even though they had stitched him up, it didn’t mean that they were good people. All the weapons in the room proved it. 

A sharp smack sounded behind the man pinning him down, causing the man to falter in his grip. It was the girl, clearly unhappy with how things had gone down. Kate scowled, crossing her arms. 

“Clint, you asshat! Let him go!” Honestly, he was getting more and more impulsive and rash! “You don’t exactly hide your deafness, Clint. I mean, really? Big purple hearing aids?” 

“He’s  _ blind _ , Kate! As in, ‘ _ can’t see my aids’ blind!  _ There’s no way he could tell-”

“You have a dog in the room over. He’s big...Labrador? Golden Retriever?” Both Hawkeyes turned to stare at the wounded stranger, eyes wide. “There’s a half-empty pot of coffee sitting on the counter. All your mugs are in the sink so you drank straight from the pot.”

“How can you-” Clint began, but was immediately cut off. 

“Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I can’t  _ see _ . I know you two are dangerous, and I know I’m at your mercy. But we could-” Matt strained slightly, struggling to take in a full breath. Kate elbowed the other Hawkeye, who begrudgingly let up. Instantly was the stranger wheezing, sucking in several large mouthfuls of air. He sat up and braced his weight against the floor with his hands. 

“A few questions, first.” Clint declared. His eyes narrowed as he stood back up. “Who are you, and why were you in my dumpster?” 

“ _ Your _ dumpster?” 

“Shuddup Kate.”

Matt sighed, lifting one of his hands to rub his face. He really did end up in a bad situation. He wasn’t dead, but this could easily end up what way. 

“I was thrown in there, presumably by my assailants. My name is Matt. Sorry for ending up in  _ your _ dumpster.”

While Clint and Matt argued, Kate did what she did best; she snooped. What clothes the strange man wore were left tossed to the side in a gross, bloody pile. Gingerly did she pick up a torn and sticky sweatshirt, grimacing. Okay, ew. It was probably a mistake to do that. Tossing the shirt aside, her gaze fixed on a shoddy mask. She picked it up, turning it in her hands. No eyeholes. That also backed up Clint's insistence that the stranger-Matt-was blind. This was all really familiar, though she wasn't sure how. 

"Okay,  _Matt_." Clint began, his voice sharp and distrusting. "You got into trouble. Big trouble. I know that because I personally sewed up your wounds. Who did it?"

"The Russians." The distaste in the man's voice was clear. Both archers paused once more, a scowl creasing even deeper into Clint's expression. So he was bothering those bros too? No wonder he got beat up so bad. Still...he'd never known them to use knives. Guns killed better and at a further range. "They've been colluding to buy out the whole of Hell's Kitchen. I tracked what was left of them here." 

Kate gasped, a free hand clapping to her mouth. Of course! It all made sense now! The oddly familiar outfit, the strange man, Hell's Kitchen...

"You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen." 


	3. Two Adult Children (And Kate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Clint break out in fists when the truth comes out. Kate struggles to forge an alliance between the two troublemakers.

It took almost ten minutes to break up the fight between Clint and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Ten. _Minutes._ As soon as he was identified, the tense calm in the room snapped. Clint lunged to pin the stranger (Matt, right? Kate was pretty sure that’s what he called himself), and Matt sprang out of the way. Just like that, the apartment was in complete chaos.

Kate picked up the largest piece of a shattered mug, crossing her arms and fixing Clint a stern look. The only reason the fight had even ended was because she had pulled the two apart. Neither had seemed particularly inclined to hurt her, thank goodness, because that’s what she’d been banking on. As Clint averted her gaze, she bent down and plucked another piece of shattered ceramic from the floor. With the two of them bouncing around the apartment trying to murder one another, they were lucky only a mug and the coffee table were seriously damaged. Yeah. The table was ruined after Matt threw Clint into it. Like a child. Speaking of children…

The both of them sulked on different sides of the main room. Matt was settled uneasily on the couch, looking just about as awful as he had before. Clint hadn’t been super interested in killing him, so it seemed he landed pretty soft blows in comparison. Clint, however, looked pretty bad. His hands were all cut up from the shattered mug, and he sported a black eye and busted lip. Not to mention whatever lay under his shirt. Matt had capitalized on the fact the blond had landed on his back on the dumpster and flipped him onto the coffee table. After that, the two just started wailing on each other. Kate pried them apart, only for Matt to rip a leg off the shattered remains on the table and go after the guy like that.

They flipped the couch over after Clint vaulted over it, shortly followed by Clint. They ended up chasing one another into the kitchen, where Matt smacked him in the gut with the table leg. Clint staggered into counter, smashing a mug in the process. After that, Kate called it quits and  _manually_ pulled the two apart. With lots of threats and cursing. Clint, having been beaten on, relented to treat his new injuries. 

“So.” Kate clucked her tongue, glancing between both culprits. “Now that we’re doing this my way, we’re going to stop fighting. Got it?” The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen nodded, turning his sightless gaze her way for courtesy’s sake. Clint merely grunted, but it was enough for her. He had a pretty big wad of paper towels pressed against his busted lip, after all. “Let’s start with introductions, my way. My name’s Kate Bishop, I’m an Avenger.”

“ _Was_ an Avenger.” Clint corrected. Kate stuck her tongue out at him, and the other Hawkeye attempted to do the same. Grimacing at the copper taste on his tongue, he abandoned that action pretty quickly. Matt’s eyes lit up, a mix of surprise and dismay on his face. “

Avenger?” he repeated, unsure. Her heart rate remained steady the whole time; she was serious. But Avengers getting involved meant he’d surely been turned in, especially since he’d already given away his name.

“This is Clint Barton. Actual Avenger.” Kate motioned to Clint, who merely sneered and spit blood into his paper towel. “We’re the Hawkeyes, and local protectors of Brooklyn.”

Hawkeye...Yes...That made a lot of sense, actually! The bows, the throwing knives, the fact some random guy was meddling with the Russian Mafia… No, scratch that last one. That wasn’t a super Avenger-y thing to do. It was risky and stupid to do; city-based organized crime wasn't an Avengers type job. It was to be left to the police. But this guy, Clint, seemed to know the police weren't going to do anything about it. "You're fighting the Russians?" Matt asked softly. Clint hesitated, before nodding. A scowl darkened his expression as the archer thought about it. 

"Owned this complex." Clint admitted, waving around for emphasis. "Tryin' to evict everybody...I bought this place off 'em...but they don'  _care._ Somebody needed t' stand up n' stop 'em." Okay, so maybe he didn't super  _legally_ buy the apartment complex off those mafia bozos, but they were paid far more what the place was worth. Why wouldn't they just leave him and all his neighbors  _alone?_

Interested, Matt seemed to perk up. If they were buying out and evicting in Brooklyn as well...Yes, that proved it. Fisk was reaching further than he had originally anticipated. Which meant these two were in much more danger than they seemed to think. Either that or they were so used to impending violence that it no longer fazed them. Come to think of it, either one seemed like it made sense. 

Clint set his wad of towel down, moving instead to wash his hands. His left hand had gotten a few cuts from shattering that coffee cup. At least it wasn't his right; that would make for drawing his bow a real pain. Literally. Nudging the faucet on with a wrist, he hissed softly as water hit his minor wounds. Once clean, Clint trudged back into the living room and snatched up the roll of gauze and the medical tape. He wrapped his hand carefully, and then secured it with a strip of tape. "They came callin' earlier today. That's how I fell into the dumpster." It had been a rather impromptu fight that had ended in a painful dive into the trash. Better than being dead, he supposed. 

Matt nodded to the archer's words. He made no effort to move as Clint drew near, and instead cleared his throat. Picking up the noise, both Hawkeyes turned their eyes on him. "I...I didn't do all they said I did. In the news." He admitted softly. Pain contorted on his face at the thought. So many had gotten hurt that night when the Russian mob was forcefully wiped of Hell's Kitchen. And he hadn't been able to help them. "I'm not a killer. I didn't bomb all those people." Both archers exchanged glances, frowning. It sure seemed tough for a blind guy to make and detonate bombs, they had to admit. But nobody knew the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was blind. Save for them, at least.

"I believe you." Kate declared. She stepped towards Matt and settled a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're like us; you're just trying to help. But the way you're doing it? Isn't working out. I think..." She paused, looking over at Clint. A wry grin played on her lips. "I think you need the help of Hawkeye." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! Sorry for the short chapter! 
> 
> I PROMISE some rag-tag team dynamics will happen EVENTUALLY. It's a slow burn sorta friendship between Matt and Clint; they'll be best buds in no time :)


	4. Heavy Hearts and Steep Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trio Take a ride to drop Matt off, and are given time to asses what a huge mess they've all gotten into.

“No. Nope. Veteod.” Clint declared, eyes narrowing at Kate’s suggestion. He had just gotten his ass handed to him by a bunch of mobsters; he wasn’t going to charge back in there with another handicap. Especially after getting thrown twice in one day. Staring past Kate this time, his words addressed Matt. “Rest up. I’m not going to force you out of here in the state you’re in. After that, though, you need to go. There’s hardly any room the way it is.”

Clint’s apartment was a shithole. Hell, the entire _complex_ was a shithole. But it was _his_ , he owned it. It was small and cluttered and littered with evidence of past injuries, but it was his. His blue eyes drifted to his smashed coffee table and his old anger flared up again. It was one of the few pieces of furniture in the house. There was the shitty stained couch and the coffee table. The kitchen counter didn’t count because, well, it was nailed to the floor. Matt’s lips flattened into a hard line. He strained to stand, but remained stable on his feet. Kate moved to support him but was quickly shrugged off.

“I’m fine. Thank you for letting me stay, but I’ve already been here too long.” Although Clint was angry at this Matt, he wasn’t an asshole. And Matt was too hurt to find his way home alone. As much as he hated to admit it, he was going to help. 

“Do you...do you want a ride?”

\---

A blind man, a deaf man, and a girl are all sitting in a car. Two of them smell like trash and all of them are wearing purple.It sounds like the start of a joke. But no, it was her life. Kate sighed, squishing her face against the back seat window. Clint had been kind enough to offer clothes to this “Matt” guy, but his pants were a lot longer than Matt’s legs were. The cuffs were rolled up so high, it made him look like a child. It would’ve been funny, had his other clothes not been bloodsoaked and torn to all hell.

Today had just been...tiring. And it was only like 4 pm.

If not for the Manhattan traffic, the ride from Bed-Stuy to Hell’s Kitchen wouldn’t have been so bad. And of course they took Clint’s junky car, the one with the crank windows and broken air conditioner. Seriously, the car was older than she was. Surprisingly, a career of pro-bono Super-heroing didn’t allow him to buy a new car. It was a shame he dumped his SHIELD job, it would’ve let him get out of such a dangerous neighborhood. Then again, she was just as broke as him after she dumped her father’s money. He just...he wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t stomach the blood money any more. Knowing Clint, he felt the same way working with SHIELD.

Kate sighed, cranking down her window a crack. Summer was winding down, but the Manhattan heat meant the city was stifling with the smell of cooking garbage. As much as she loved how busy and exciting New York was, her thoughts kept drifting out west. She wanted the beach, the sun, and to be as far away from this mafia business as possible. Was it selfish? Absolutely. Clint was the only thing keeping her here, and she knew it. The car finally came to a stop someplace, in the middle of traffic. Of course. Kate opened her mouth to sigh again, but was cut off. The new guy, Matt, broke the silence before she could.

“You know him. Fisk?”

Ooooh boy, that wasn’t a good topic. She could see Clint tense visibly at the wheel. After beating the living hell out of an entire circus full of thieves, she and Clint managed to get away on a boat full of their stolen cash. Cash that they stole from other big-wig criminals. Yeah. They stole money that thieves stole from thugs. Masque and Kingpin had been there for sure, but there had to be a whole crew of baddies waiting to tear their faces off. Especially after the Madripoor incident, Masque alone would revel in watching them die slow and horrible deaths. Masque had threatened to smoke a whole pack of cigarettes and use her face as an ashtray. Yeah, _hard_ pass one that one. Kate shuddered at the thought. 

“Sssssoooomthing like that.” Clint chose not to elaborate, but the apprehension in his voice rang clear. They messed with some bad folks. Those same bad folks then beat Clint up and threw him in a dumpster. Or, he was hit so hard he fell from the fire escape into a dumpster. Clint hadn't been very forthcoming about _how_ he ended up in said trash receptacle. Now that she thought about it, why was he the one driving? Jesus, he just got smashed to hell by some Russian bozos, then flipped onto his IKEA coffee table(it had to be IKEA, Clint couldn't afford _real_ furniture). The older Hawkeye glanced at Kate through the rear-view window, distrust shining in his eyes. He couldn't get into it. He was lucky none of the Avengers had found out about his robbery. "It's not important right now. Let's just get you home." 

"He's doing the same thing in Hell's kitchen, you know." Kate and Clint exchanged glances, confused. "Let me guess; your apartment's rent suddenly got high. High enough to start having building-wide evictions."Kate merely frowned, listening. Clint said he'd tried to buy out the whole place, said Ivan was looking to evict everyone. Said there was another buyer already. Was was happening? "It's Fisk. He's buying out all the low-income housing in New York. I don't know what he's planning, yet. But once I do, I'll-"

"You'll _what_ , wage a warpath on a billionaire the size of a truck? Besides all the money and bodyguards, he could crush you with one meaty fist, pal." Clint's voice was strained, straddling a line between angry and exhausted. "The Avengers can't touch him, he's got him and all his businesses wrapped in miles of red tape. Besides, ya got your ass handed t' ya by some cronies at _best._ No, we do this smart. You're going to rest and heal. Going out snooping now'll getcha killed." Kate listened as Clint's voice slipped into some street accent, something he lapsed into when stressed. He was gripping the steering wheel so tight, his fingers were bone white. On his left hand, she noticed the gauze seeping with red. 

"Clint." She warned, her own voice tense. 

"And what good will that do anyhow? Some half rate vigilante with sticks?" 

" _Clint."_

 _"_ What's gettin' beat to hell and back even doin' for ya? Make ya look like a terrorist? Beat 'cha within an inch of your life? What th' Hell were you even-" He stopped when a hand rested on his right arm. Matt gripped his arm, firm enough to grasp but not enough to hurt. He turned to the archer with a stern but generally calm look. Clint exhaled shakily, his nerves coming off him in waves. 

"We aren't friends. I know that. But I promise, I _will_ help you save your apartment. Whatever it takes." Matt drew his eyebrows up almost sympathetically, and patted Clint's arm for good measure. For whatever reason, Kate felt like he was sincere. He didn't seem like a bad guy, really. Just...foolhardy. It reminded her of a certain blond archer... "This is my stop. I can walk to my place from here." 

As Clint pulled over onto the curb, Matt opened the passenger side door and slid out. Kate watched him walk away, his muscular form hardly betraying his grievous injuries. How long would he hold out as the Devil of Hell's kitchen? How had he managed to last this long without help? She watched Matthew Murdock slowly shrink as they drove away with a small frown. He would get himself killed without help. And if Clint wasn't going to help him, she would. 

\---

Empty Apartment, lights off. Just like he left it. Matt trudged into his flat, closing the door behind him. He had been lucky someone had fished him out of that dumpster. But an Avenger of all people had been unlikely. But now...he got a better feel of Fisk's plan. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed time. Not to rest, but to gather more information. He hadn't even intended to be jumped the previous night, he was out trying to scope out how much Fisk was buying out. 

His phone was right where he left it, sitting on the kitchen counter. As he clicked it on, it announced his missed conversations in a flat, electronic voice.

"Five missed calls from: FOGGY NELSON. Ten text messages from: FOGGY NELSON. Two text messages from: CLAIRE." 

Great. Foggy knew he'd been out, then. At least it was a Saturday, so he hadn't missed work. He could just lie and say he'd spent the weekend with his phone off, sitting at home. Foggy trusted him, it'd be easy enough to pass as his weekend activities. Stuffing his phone in his pocket, Matt shuffled to the fridge and pulled its door open. Half a container of take-out and a six-pack of beer were the only contents inside. He snatched a beer, hesitated, and put it back. All he really wanted to do right now was sleep. He could drink later. He closed the door behind him as he made his way to the couch. The bed was too far away, and everything hurt. For now, he'd just sleep off his wounds. 


End file.
